Dusty Memories

vineri, 12 decembrie 2014

Bringing the pictures at dawn. Places to go, people to forget. When I think of friendship I get this strange feeling of pure joy mixed with melancholia. Not because my definition of friendship evolves around emotions, because it ends without them. I needed someone to rely on and I had friends. They were like a family to me. In fac, they were more than a family. Terribly flawed, with broken wings such as myself, I could bear the thought of tomorrow through the eyes of others. I could bring my dreams closer to realisation knowing that there were others near me who could breathe the same majestic air of failure. Promises of a new life brought upon us by the new overwhelming possibilities ahead of us. Chaotic, meaningful, deliberately harmful and respectful notion of time, I bid you make one exception and save some lost souls! Places to confirm our weakness, feelings to improve our behaviour, girls to make us start again. Comparison throuh the lens of an all seeying eye. Leaving me alone, near the doors of fate. I couldnțt enter. I just lay back, smoked a ciggarette and waited. I didn't know I'll wait forever. Nor that my wait will be so much like a broken leaf's trail through the air. I had no exception in my mind for you. Yet you came in. Hope.For another lifetime, my thoughts spread into words and numbers like falling stars caught the glimpse of my vision. And so I was older. Not old, just older. Perfect harmony, symetry, words, repeating in my mind like endless whispers on a broken cassete recorder. Fleeing from the rain, under the shadow of a barricade, leaving thoughts to wander, aimlessly, displeasing, profoundly beatuiful. Times of joy and times of neutrality. Times of monotonous sorrow. And times of shadow and decay. Shall I be alone with the Gods again? Shall I smile and taste from the same cup of tranquility and oblivious mystery? Bring them in. Let the light creep upon my heart. Not a word of doubt from the masters above. The pavement, stronger than our bodies, bent under the pressure of our dreams. Piercing through the veil, I was no longer a ghost. Climbing stairs, prying on households, I came upon the forest's shadow. But it felt like a home to me. Cranking up the volume and breathing evaporating fumes from nearby, I waited. We waited. It never let me down. My blood, my pressure inside my veins held a secret I couldn't resist to unveil. Carressing it was a hard task. But I was a harsh task master. So it begun. My unfolding journey towards the end of the earth. Towards the end of oneself. But I was not alone. I was not going to die alone. And that made me feel safe. Without knowing, without knwing what? I knew everything I wanted as long as IO didn't know the truth. How foolish. How wise. How distasteful might it seem to others, rambling and gambling and dancing in this twisted game of fate alongside others. Parteners of decaying youth. Misfortune was our guide. Our promises were impoverished stars. Made of shrapnell and steel. The fire burning in my heart like a furnace. Melting away all impurities, crafting a diamond from the bones of an angel. Heavy fumes, heavy nights, lingering in paradise for a long while, then retreating to our dark homes. Where stories of malfeasance and disturbance crept over the walls. We had to survive another night, to be alive another day. And so on, and so on. Lying was bad for the soul. But poor advice is even worse. I lied about my condition. We lied about it. Preferring the sweet taste of a bent truth was not that hard to me. It was harder to live with demons. But the real monsters were inside my head.Then it all went down. The dam broke loose. The beer spilled. And reaction to the casual world finally caught it's pace. Our tankyard lives trailed by the creeping tallons of a thousand fingers. Pointing, chanting. Evil. they are evil. We should be evil. Why not? Forget me, remember me, live me drown me, lie to me, place me, displace me, unfold me, steal me, kill me, rape me, trace me, collect me, disturb me, listen to me. You are not going anywhere, unless the corners of your eyes shoot flames. Unless your hands are ablaze. Unless you have a band of thieves to guard your back. A band of losers that will soon be millionaires. We robbed souls penniless of misfortune and doubt, of sad and fear and loathing. And we destroyed all their possesionss. So come to us, wether you're rich or poor, you're going to leave, enlighted, fulfilled, enchanted. Nevermind the positive book reading, the character building support, the zen, chakra and all other forms of bullshiting people. All you need is a cigarrete a beer and a barefoot dance around the campfire. It's tradition around here to burn your soul, before you go. Before you go home.

I was the highschool looser. The drop-out. The emo kid. Nobody would hang out with me and nobody laughed with me. But they did laugh at my flaws. Behind my back. When they thought I wasn't awake.But I was awake and I felt everything, sting me like a knife.
Like what it is to have a fucked up home and a disbanded family. The ones that laugh are the ones that had it soft on them. Theyr biggest fear was what to order when raising the menu at the restaurant, my biggest fear was raising more than myself. You never know when your last day hits you.
But I hated them from the moment I understood that I was alone. Being extroverted and being isolated is like throwing somebody in a prison cell with nothing to eat. Nobody will ever want to know anything about starvation, because the well-fed stomach keeps up a happy mind.
But guess what? You can also be happy on an empty stomach, when books are your only friend and going to the supermarket to feed yourself seems like a deadly sin. I'm an outcast, myself, not because I wanted to, but because fate has had it's way tougher on me than on the others. Am I the only one?
No way. There are countless souls just like myself, who wonder poor and alone accross this graveyard that some people call Earth, some people call home, I don't call it anything, I don't care.
But guess what? We burn the fat off our souls.
Hard living also means hard dying, it doesn't kill us so it makes us more powerfull. I never though I was a good person. I always thought I'd go to hell and die in the worst possible way. Being a pessimist is an ugly thing. But being a blind fucking optimistic son-of-a-bitch is even worse.
You bastards are so eager to demonise everything you haven't experienced. So what if we smoke ciggarettes until the break of dawn? What if we smell roses in the gardens of strangers? What if we die of hangovers the next day? We are here because we are meant to be this way and we are not leaving nor will we bow down to some sort of trend introduced by a corporation.
And when we all get to hell, you fuckers will have the most fat on your arms and legs, and the demons will eat you first. They will fight and befriend us, but they will slay and cook you. They will chase us and they won't catch us because earth has made us swift.We will pretend that the darkness is a new home for us parasites. We never had one anyway! What's another eternity of suffering? I'm just getting warmed up!
I never believed in fairytales, although I wanted to. I desperately seeked my refuge in the uttermost incredible things: sunsets, broken shards from a spider's web, the "evil" cemetery, etc. People say I'm crazy, I say I'm completely insane. There's no intensity in what people say! There is only dullness! There is no contrast in what the world percieves. All they see is grey!
So what if I feel the most safe when I'm walking alone in the forest and I feel the wings of a dark presence surrounding me? ? like to think that whatever keeps my soul warm sometimes has some osrt of a higher purpose and won't let me go. I was crazy , demented and starved, humiliated, but I never was lost. I could always find my way home through the darkest of woods without dispairing.
I never embraced defeat, because it was worse than death. There was always a dark star guiding me. And it's not like I'm satanic or anthing like that! All I saw was darkness right in front of me, but I knew, that there was something beneath that, worth fighting for, worth the struggle and if I could just breath in and take the pain I could really break through those walls and see the light. The real light! Can you imagine? Not the sun, not the stars, not any light knows to mankind or this universe, but some sort of light of my own creation. Meeting yourself at the vanishing point of the world, without breath, thought or any other disbanding joy of the body that could intimidate you.
Sometimes I wonder what are the traces of the language we speak? What do words mean to some people and to some other people? I have met men that slaved themselves in factories who made a hell of a lot more sense than your idiotic responses to simple questions. "How are you?" I'd ask you and you'd tell me all about your stupid lives. You could summarise your entire life right there and then!
When I asked the factory worker, how he was, he'd tell me: "I'm fucked." And that made a hell of a lot more sense to me than anything. Plain and simple. Yet mysterious.
I have just met some people that completely understand me. And sometimes they lie. But it's a beautiful sort of lie, they're young, they're just kids and they say things they never did do, they just talk out loud, it's weird because they really believe in what they say and that makes me believe it too even though we both know that they're just fantasies. I can dissapear anytime in a place of my own, or a new place where I've never been, but where I've always wanted to go, unleashing myself on the streets of a new-born town like the wind in the cannopy, like the stars over New Jersey.(to be continued...)